


Forty-Eight Hour Stand-down

by pocky_slash



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You and Ianto had a domestic," Gwen guesses. Jack scowls at her.</i> In which Jack is kicked out, Gwen just wants a night off, Rhys buys milk, and Ianto clears table space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Eight Hour Stand-down

**Author's Note:**

> So, after I finished Yuletide, I sat down and wrote 3k words of Jack fic. I KNOW. Then I hated it and threw the middle out. Then I sat down and rewrote it all last night. With huge thanks to [](http://solsticezero.livejournal.com/profile)[**solsticezero**](http://solsticezero.livejournal.com/) for betaing, entertaining me on Twitter last night, and assuring me that this is actually a story. YOU ARE AWESOME.

 Gwen and Rhys are halfway through their second bottle of wine when she hears a knock on the door. She shushes Rhys, who had two beers before the wine with dinner and was in the middle of a lengthy rant about Daf's new girl, and stumbles to her feet. She figures it's probably Mrs. Winslow again, misplacing her keys and needing Gwen to call the landlord.

She's only momentarily surprised to see Jack standing on her doorstep.

Ignoring the fact that Jack somehow got in without being buzzed, that they're on forty-eight hour stand-down while the Hub decontaminates, and that she has a mobile that Jack could bloody well call if he needed her that badly, what she really can't get over is that Jack is holding his duffle bag.

"Bloody fucking _hell_ ," she mutters.

"Who is it?" Rhys asks. "Did Mrs. Winslow lock herself out again?"

"It's Jack is who it fucking is," Gwen says.

"What the hell does he want?" Rhys asks. It's a good question. One that she's not going to have answered by staring out at Jack through the door.

"What the hell do you want?" she asks Jack, once she's pulled the door open. Jack gives her his biggest, toothiest smile, but she can immediately tell that his heart's not in it.

"Nice to see you too, Gwen." He peers around her, into the flat, and raises a hand to Rhys. "Rhys."

Rhys just glares in response.

"Can I come in?"

Gwen doesn't move. Jack sags a little.

"You gave us forty-eight hours off," she tells him. "You told us forty-eight hour stand down and that if anything came up, you'd phone us. This isn't phoning, Jack."

"It's not--" Jack frowns, the little frown that looks like a child's pout rather than an expression of real anger. "There's no emergency. I just wanted to set up the remote rift monitors and mini-computers."

Gwen narrows her eyes. "Why are you bringing all that here?"

"It needs to be set up somewhere and I don't exactly have a flat, Gwen." Irritation is starting to creep back into Jack's expression, but at heart, it still looks like someone kicked his puppy.

"But why here?" Gwen asks. "I thought you were staying with--"

She almost staggers when she puts the pieces together. Jack on her door step, licking his wounds, looking for counseling without daring to ask for it. Oh, for god's sake....

"You and Ianto had a domestic," Gwen guesses. Jack scowls at her.

"Ianto and I did _not_ have a domestic. We don't have 'domestics,' Gwen. We're not you and Rhys."

She wonders what he means. 'We're not you and Rhys.' They're not married? They're not in a relationship? No, she doesn't have to wonder; she knows that's what he means. They're not in a relationship, relationships mean labels and Jack hates labels, like it's even possible to put a real label on whatever sexual and emotional tumult exists between a 24 year old Welsh secret agent slash butler and a 150 year old immortal time traveler. It's just an excuse to pretend it's not serious, because apparently, even after thousands of years, men are still men and thus deathly afraid of commitment.

"Oh, it was definitely a domestic," Gwen says. She turns and calls over her shoulder, "Rhys, it's all right, Jack and Ianto have just had a domestic."

She can feel Jack's scowl without turning around.

"Sorry, mate," Rhys says, leaning forward to raise his wine glass to Jack, maybe in some kind of couch-sleeping solidarity. "Our couch pulls out. You should call and have flowers delivered in the morning. Do blokes like flowers?"

"We did _not_ have a domestic!" Jack repeats. Gwen thinks he's probably aiming for authoritarian, but there's a definite whine in his voice. She feels bad, suddenly. If this was Ianto on her doorstep after being spurned by Jack, he'd already be bundled on her couch with a stiff drink and a willing ear. Jack's supposed to be her friend too, and Ianto can certainly be just as much of an arse as Jack.

"Well, come inside," Gwen says, gesturing, finally, for Jack to enter the flat. He rolls his eyes, but he comes in quickly, dropping his bags and pacing around her living room with his hands on his hips. Rhys tries to hide a snort in his wine glass. "Don't pace, Jack, just sit down and let's talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack says, then quickly adds, "There's nothing to talk about, Gwen. I'll set up the monitors and leave you alone for the rest of the night. If anything goes on, it should transmit to my wrist strap."

"You didn't drop by to set up the monitors, Jack." She can tell he wants to talk. He couldn't be more obvious about it, really. "You could have done that at Tosh's or at Owen's."

Jack runs his hands through his hair and heads back to the door. "You know what? This was a bad idea. Tosh is better at this anyway." He grabs his bags. Tosh would be better at the computer stuff, but she's also completely oblivious when it comes to relationships. It took Ianto dancing with Jack at Gwen's wedding for Tosh to pull her aside and haltingly ask if she thought the thing between Jack and Ianto was serious. Jack could certainly slip in, set up the monitors, and slip out to brood on a rooftop for the next two days.

That's not what Jack needs, though.

"What did you say to him?" Gwen asks just as Jack reaches the door. He whirls around so fast that his bag hits the wall and Gwen winces in sympathy for the tech inside.

"I didn't even say anything!" Jack says. "I hadn't even opened my mouth yet! Why is this all on me?" Jack is momentarily wild-eyed and bewildered and Gwen realizes this might take a little more damage control than she thought.

"Rhys," she says, "Didn't you want to go down to the corner and get some more milk?"

Rhys' face crumples in confusion. "In the morning, maybe." She glares at him and gestures subtly to Jack. Rhys shrugs helplessly. Gwen stabs a finger towards the door. Rhys glares and then sighs and stands up. "Right," he mutters, looking for his coat and only wobbling slightly. "Milk. Bloody Torchwood."

Gwen kisses him on his cheek as he grumbles his way out of the flat. "Love you!"

The door closes behind Rhys and she's left alone in the flat with Jack. Jack's pulled himself together, reaffixed his mask of casual indifference, is studying one of the photos of Gwen and Rhys on the wall.

"Sit," she says to Jack. Jack glares at her and defiantly walks over to stand next to the couch. She rolls her eyes at him, a little surprised that she expected anything different, and sits on the arm of the couch, looking at him. "What didn't you say?" she asks.

"I didn't say _anything_ ," Jack insists.

"Right, because Ianto's known for flying off the handle for no reason," Gwen says.

"You would know," Jack snaps.

Gwen doesn't know what that means, but she's beginning to feel like she's supposed to, from the way Jack is glaring at her.

"Why would I know?" Gwen asks very slowly.

Jack starts pacing again by way of answer.

"I should go," he says. "I shouldn't have interrupted you and Rhys."

"Jack," she says warningly. "I don't want to go into work in two days and have Ianto walking around like a wounded puppy and you locking yourself in your office in a snit."

Jack glares at her again.

"I'm going," he says.

"What did you say to Ianto?" Gwen asks again.

"I didn't say anything!" he said. "I didn't have to say anything! I've lived over a hundred years, Gwen. I've led men into battle and fought aliens and traveled through time and space, but every once in awhile, this twenty-four year old _child_ from Wales looks at me like I've just said something deeply insulting about his mother _before I can even open my mouth_ and I have no fucking idea what to do."

This is progress. All the same....

"If I ever hear you call him a child again, Jack, I swear I will kill you before he even gets a chance to," she says. "He's not a child, Jack. Far from it."

Jack slumps. "I know," he says. He comes around to the front of the couch and drops onto it like a stone. "I know. He should be, though. He should have a life."

"He can't anymore," Gwen says. If this was Ianto, she would be stroking his hair. The boundaries with Jack are a little bit different, but she has to fist her hand to keep from reaching out, anyway.

"I know," Jack says. "How much of that is my fault?"

"Almost none of it," Gwen says. "He was broken before he came to us. If anything, you're helping him. He needs this, Jack. He needs you."

Jack laughs. "Ianto doesn't need anything, Gwen. He doesn't need any of us. He's stronger than we think."

"He does need us," Gwen insists. "Maybe not to survive, but to be happy. To remember why he's surviving. To distract him from the things he's already survived. There's a difference between surviving and thriving, Jack. You, of all people, should know that."

Jack doesn't say anything, but something shifts in his jaw and she knows that he can't be inspecting the fashion magazines on the coffee table that closely.

"What happened?" Gwen asks him again.

Jack shifts on the couch and leans back. "What does it matter?" he asks. "I don't know how his brain works."

Gwen snorts. "And you think I do?"

"You're... you know." He wiggles his fingers. "You and him."

"He's my best mate," Gwen says. "I adore him. I love him with all my heart, Jack, but that doesn't mean I have a clue how his brain works."

"But he tells you things!" Jack says. "I know he does. You two have your little chats over coffee. You know things about him that I don't."

"Have you ever asked?" Gwen asks.

Jack snorts. "You think he would tell me if I did?"

He has a point. Ianto picks and chooses what he shares with the rest of them. He and Jack are alike in that way. Asking questions didn't always lead to answers. Frequently, it lead to more questions. Almost always it lead to stony, hurt silence.

They sit together, defeated and contemplative. Jack tips his head back and stares at the ceiling.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Jack says.

"What changed?" Gwen asks. She genuinely curious. She and Ianto have discussed it at length, the sudden change in Jack after his disappearance. Most of it is in jest, ridiculous guesses that they feel comfortable joking about because they know they can't be true. But something was different, something made Jack more serious about Ianto, and Ianto still wasn't entirely comfortable with it.

Not that she would dare say that to Jack. If Jack can't figure out that he confuses Ianto more than anything the rift can throw at them, then Jack doesn't deserve to know.

"I don't know," Jack says. It's probably the most honest answer that Gwen could hope for. "When I was away. When I was with... that time that I was gone, all I could think about was coming home to you, to him. All I could think of was the look on his face after I kissed him, like he couldn't believe he actually meant something to me. He deserved better than that. I wanted to be more than that to him."

"Do you still want that?" Gwen asks.

"Yeah," Jack says. He sits up and looks at Gwen, frowning. "Of course I do."

"Do you love him?" Gwen asks.

She should know better, but sometimes she can't stop her mouth.

"I love all of you," Jack says. "You and Owen and Tosh and Ianto, too."

"Jack," Gwen says. "Come on. You know what I mean."

Jack looks away. "Gwen," he says. "There's nothing good that can come of this."

"Of you loving Ianto or of us having this conversation?" Gwen asks. "Because I think that positive things can come out of both of those. I think you know it."

"Gwen...."

There are so many things she wants to shout at him. She wants to rage at him, tell him that he doesn't have to hide, that there's nothing that can scare them away anymore. She wants to slap him until he stops brooding and realizes that he's got a ready-made family right in front of him, that he's going to live forever, but he won't actually _live_ unless he reaches out to the people around him, the people who would do anything for him.

The words aren't coming. She stares at him, shaking her head.

"He loves you," she finally says.

"He's never said," Jack says, picking at the upholstery on the couch.

"And he never will," Gwen says. "This is Ianto we're talking about! He'd probably rather take on a Weevil."

Jack's going to reply, she can see it in his eyes, when she hears a key in the door. Damn Rhys and his bloody terrible timing.

It's not just Rhys who walks into the flat, though. When he clears the doorway, milk in his hands, she sees Ianto hovering in the hallway.

"Look who I found on the way to the shop," Rhys says. He walks straight into the kitchen and deposits the milk in the fridge. "Can we have our flat back now?"

"Rhys!" Gwen says, but Jack and Ianto seem to be ignoring them. They're not quite looking at each other, but they're close. That's progress. Jack's hands are deep in his pockets as he gets to his feet and starts slowly circling the living room again. Ianto's got his hands on his hips. He's looking at the ceiling.

"Rhys says I should buy you flowers," Jack finally says. Ianto rolls his eyes, but the way one of his hands rises to muss his hair gives away his own apprehension.

"I'd rather you buy me a new coffee maker," Ianto says. Gwen can hear the nerves in his voice. She wants to wrap her arms around him, but she's Jack's friend tonight, and she knows Ianto would just shirk from the contact, anyway. They need to work through this on their own.

Jack forces a laugh. "Yeah. Anyway. I should set these monitors up."

Ianto chances a look back at Jack. "You can... probably set them all up at mine. I mean, I still have those tables set up."

"You do?" Jack asks.

"Sure," Ianto says. "They're always set up. I mean, if you ever need somewhere to hook up the monitors, you can always... put them there."

The clumsiest metaphor ever, the most paper-thin symbolism, but she knows these boys, these men, and she knows this is the only way they'll ever say something like this.

"Really," Jack says. His smirk is back. It's not as strong or as bright as it usually is, but it's a start. "Tell me more about this open table invitation."

When Ianto rolls his eyes this time, it's with irascible derision that Gwen's used to seeing from him. "Oh, just get your bloody bags. We're going home."

Jack raises his eyebrows and smirks. "If you say so," he says. Ianto gives him a look and they both soften. Gwen feels something in the air shift. It's easier to breath. She hadn't realized how difficult it had been.

Ianto turns to Gwen, finally, and gives her a small smile. "Thank you, Gwen."

"Always, sweetheart," Gwen says.

"Yeah, thanks," Jack says. "Sorry about the milk, Rhys."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rhys says. "Torchwood."

Jack laughs. "We'll call you if something comes up," he says. "Otherwise, I'll see you the day after tomorrow." He gives them a messy salute and hefts his bags onto his shoulder, following Ianto out into the hallway.

The door closes behind them.

"What," Rhys asks, once they're gone, "the _bloody hell_ was that about?"

Gwen is still staring at the closed door. "A domestic," she says. She turns around and smiles at Rhys. "Just a domestic. That's all."


End file.
